It’s hard for me to love other people. It’s even harder for me to love myself.
I was driving home from work Monday evening and I had just angrily hung up the phone. A woman had called me from a company that did some work at my house a few years ago. I didn’t like the way the company was handling its business with me, but it was nothing personal with the woman.
The thing that annoyed me wasn’t her fault. She was just reading a script. She was doing her job. But I was in a bad mood — and I took out my frustrations on her.
I wasn’t nasty or rude, but I certainly wasn’t kind or loving.
As I drove the rest of the way down I-459 toward home, I stewed in my irritation, but my annoyance quickly turned toward myself. I wasn’t upset with that woman or her company.
I lectured myself about being a hypocrite. I berated myself about my unwillingness to live up to my values when it wasn’t convenient — when I wasn’t in the right mood.

Continued collapse of competence points toward decline of a culture
Apple podcast listing means you can now subscribe to Love & Hope
I don’t understand YouTube fame, but I’m drawn toward it anyway
Regardless of political beliefs, why does anyone watch Bill O’Reilly?
I’m shutting the whole world out, but I’m also waiting to be rescued
Christmas stands for quiet truths: love, faith, community and family
Do political labels make things clear or just confuse everyone?
It’s great to visit Memory Lane, but it’s fatal to try to live there